Read Online Naughty by Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn - Free Book Online Page B
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wore.
The woman spotted Hammett a moment after Hammett spotted her. They stared at each other for a moment as cars passed between them. Hammett knew this woman was after her, knew she was armed, and wished she’d had a more substantial weapon than a drugstore box cutter, having ditched her guns before boarding the flight. She had a weapon cache in another part of town, in a safe deposit box in a bank in Five Points, but her ID for that box was in her safe house. Bringing a box cutter to a gunfight was just plain stupid, and Hammett was considering sprinting away when the woman did something unusual. She shrugged, held out her palms, and mouthed, “What are you doing?”
Almost as if she recognizes me. Does she think I’m Clancy?
Clancy had spilled her guts about many things during their time together, but she hadn’t mentioned working with another female assassin.
The woman in the poncho began to cross the street, but Hammett didn’t detect any threat in her gait or posture. Hammett matched her nonchalant stance, and was grateful she had the sunglasses on because as the women neared, Hammett got even more confused.
This woman looks exactly like me.
She immediately wondered if it was Clancy, but that was impossible.
Which meant this had to be yet another twin.
Make that triplets.
Hydra.
Hammett considered the name of her secret government organization. A hydra was a mythical Greek dragon with seven heads. Why seven? Could Hydra have actually trained seven identical women to be operatives?
Hammett bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood, and let some dribble down her lips. When the twin approached, Hammett dropped to one knee, feigning an injury. A moment later she was being helped up and led to a car parked on the corner, a Chevy rental. The woman helped Hammett into the passenger seat, then got behind the wheel and buckled up.
“Hit me from behind,” Hammett said.
“Isaac said she was good. Did you finish her?”
Hammett nodded and then coughed, spattering the windshield with blood.
“Where are you hit?”
“Hospital,” Hammett mumbled.
The woman pulled into traffic. “When did you change your clothes?”
Hammett had the box cutter to her neck a heartbeat later.
“Drive cautiously, no sudden movements.”
The woman stayed calm. “You’re not Ludlum.”
Hammett patted her down, took a Glock 17 from under her poncho, a cell phone, and a Zippo lighter. She did a quick pull of the Glock’s slide to make sure it was loaded, then pressed that into the woman’s armpit. “No. I’m, Hammett, your target.”
The woman began to laugh. “Hammett? As in Dashiell?”
“Yeah. And your partner’s name is Ludlum? I assume after Robert.”
“Makes sense. Whoever created Hydra must have liked thriller writers. I’m Forsyth. As in Fredrick, who wrote Day of the Jackal.”
Hammett thought of Clancy. Tom Clancy. Their codenames were all spy authors.
“Where do you want me to drive?”
“Turn up here.”
“Right? On Alberta?”
“Yes.”
“You look exactly like me and Ludlum. You’re our sister.”
Hammett didn’t reply.
“So what did you do for blood?” Forsyth asked. She seemed much calmer than Clancy had been. Then again, she wasn’t hogtied and having her fingers broken. “Bite the inside of your cheek? I used a variation on that trick once, in Istanbul. Spit the blood in a man’s eye to blind him.”
“Where is Ludlum?”
Forsyth made a right turn, her driving slow and steady. “We split up two hours ago. Supposed to text each other whenever someone enters your apartment.”
“She’s covering the back.”
A nod. “If it matters, when we took this job we didn’t know you were our sister. We wouldn’t have taken it if we’d known.”
“But when you got close enough to me, you would have figured it out.”
“We weren’t supposed to get close. Orders. We rigged your apartment with C-4.”
“Sensor?”
“No. We were told you were good enough to
The woman spotted Hammett a moment after Hammett spotted her. They stared at each other for a moment as cars passed between them. Hammett knew this woman was after her, knew she was armed, and wished she’d had a more substantial weapon than a drugstore box cutter, having ditched her guns before boarding the flight. She had a weapon cache in another part of town, in a safe deposit box in a bank in Five Points, but her ID for that box was in her safe house. Bringing a box cutter to a gunfight was just plain stupid, and Hammett was considering sprinting away when the woman did something unusual. She shrugged, held out her palms, and mouthed, “What are you doing?”
Almost as if she recognizes me. Does she think I’m Clancy?
Clancy had spilled her guts about many things during their time together, but she hadn’t mentioned working with another female assassin.
The woman in the poncho began to cross the street, but Hammett didn’t detect any threat in her gait or posture. Hammett matched her nonchalant stance, and was grateful she had the sunglasses on because as the women neared, Hammett got even more confused.
This woman looks exactly like me.
She immediately wondered if it was Clancy, but that was impossible.
Which meant this had to be yet another twin.
Make that triplets.
Hydra.
Hammett considered the name of her secret government organization. A hydra was a mythical Greek dragon with seven heads. Why seven? Could Hydra have actually trained seven identical women to be operatives?
Hammett bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood, and let some dribble down her lips. When the twin approached, Hammett dropped to one knee, feigning an injury. A moment later she was being helped up and led to a car parked on the corner, a Chevy rental. The woman helped Hammett into the passenger seat, then got behind the wheel and buckled up.
“Hit me from behind,” Hammett said.
“Isaac said she was good. Did you finish her?”
Hammett nodded and then coughed, spattering the windshield with blood.
“Where are you hit?”
“Hospital,” Hammett mumbled.
The woman pulled into traffic. “When did you change your clothes?”
Hammett had the box cutter to her neck a heartbeat later.
“Drive cautiously, no sudden movements.”
The woman stayed calm. “You’re not Ludlum.”
Hammett patted her down, took a Glock 17 from under her poncho, a cell phone, and a Zippo lighter. She did a quick pull of the Glock’s slide to make sure it was loaded, then pressed that into the woman’s armpit. “No. I’m, Hammett, your target.”
The woman began to laugh. “Hammett? As in Dashiell?”
“Yeah. And your partner’s name is Ludlum? I assume after Robert.”
“Makes sense. Whoever created Hydra must have liked thriller writers. I’m Forsyth. As in Fredrick, who wrote Day of the Jackal.”
Hammett thought of Clancy. Tom Clancy. Their codenames were all spy authors.
“Where do you want me to drive?”
“Turn up here.”
“Right? On Alberta?”
“Yes.”
“You look exactly like me and Ludlum. You’re our sister.”
Hammett didn’t reply.
“So what did you do for blood?” Forsyth asked. She seemed much calmer than Clancy had been. Then again, she wasn’t hogtied and having her fingers broken. “Bite the inside of your cheek? I used a variation on that trick once, in Istanbul. Spit the blood in a man’s eye to blind him.”
“Where is Ludlum?”
Forsyth made a right turn, her driving slow and steady. “We split up two hours ago. Supposed to text each other whenever someone enters your apartment.”
“She’s covering the back.”
A nod. “If it matters, when we took this job we didn’t know you were our sister. We wouldn’t have taken it if we’d known.”
“But when you got close enough to me, you would have figured it out.”
“We weren’t supposed to get close. Orders. We rigged your apartment with C-4.”
“Sensor?”
“No. We were told you were good enough to
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